


No Time

by townshend



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-16
Updated: 2010-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/townshend/pseuds/townshend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no time for love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for slashtheimage @ lj, the prompt image can be found [here](http://pics.livejournal.com/darkhavens/pic/001by4fc). The tattoo reads "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine, that feedeth among the lilies."

There was no time for love.

Altaïr and Malik were only two years apart, but they were novices together. Even from the first day Altaïr had been brought to Masyaf and left to the master, there was training, and it seemed Altaïr was more interested in besting Malik with a sword and some well-timed moves than discovering what it was that intrigued most of the boys at that age.

They were going to be assassins. The master said they were to serve a far greater purpose than anyone else in the land - even the crusaders. Altaïr was inclined to listen. In fact, Malik was certain that Altaïr was hanging off of every word that their master spoke.

"I am going to be strong," Altaïr asserted to Malik one night after dinner, as the two sat in an open window, looking out over the canyon and rocky mountain range beyond, legs hanging out, feet dangling.

"As strong as the teachers?" Malik asked, tossing a pebble out and watching it soar through the air and disappear.

"No. Stronger." Altaïr smirked. "The novices will be looking to me for inspiration."

Malik scoffed. "Your pride will weigh you down," he warned, and Altaïr was young enough to still laugh, clapping Malik hard on the shoulder.

"I can best you," he mused.

"We will see about that in the morning." Malik threw another pebble, watching. It went farther than the first, and he watched in satisfaction. There were lessons in the morning. Training, as always. There was always time for training - but there wasn't time for love.

It took another two years before Malik began to realize it.

The women in Masyaf were few and far between, but Kadar, young as he was, hadn't missed them. He hadn't shown up to lessons one day, and Malik knew that as his brother it was his responsibility to track him down. He found Kadar at the well, pulling up buckets of water for two young girls, both giggling to each other. Kadar took the full bucket as if the weight were nothing, and Malik watched as he smiled and flexed and generally showed off for them, going with them to take the water to their homes.

"Have you found him yet?" Altaïr asked, coming up behind Malik. Malik didn't answer, but Altaïr followed his gaze as Kadar stepped out of view, instantly seeing the scene for what it was. "Ah. He is... preoccupied."

Malik rolled his eyes. "There is no time for that," he complained, beginning to head back up the mountain. "He must focus more on his training. He idolizes you, but he will not do the work required."

"He is young," Altaïr suggested, following. "And if he is happy... well, that's what matters."

Malik had never considered it before. As he rested from the day's training, his mind wandered back to Kadar and his smile, and what Altaïr had said.

He'd never thought of his own happiness before - only what needed to be done. Was he happy? Was Altaïr? Would finding someone else to share his life with make him happy?

Malik thought about asking Altaïr his opinion, but he already knew the answer he would get - "I already have a goal. There is no time for anything extra."

And it was probably true. There was really no time for love - but if there was, Malik was pretty certain he already knew who he'd choose to spend his life with... even if the choice was abnormal.

Another three years passed before Malik really thought about it again, and they'd all grown. Altaïr had reached the goal he'd spoke of five years previously, although at the price of his humility. Kadar followed him like a puppy, more starry-eyed than ever before - but the price of Altaïr's ability was too high, and Malik and Kadar were the ones who paid it.

As Malik rushed back to Masyaf to warn the people, his arm crippled at his side and covered in blood both his own and his brother's, his eyes were filled with tears of anger, hatred, and sadness. His brother was dead, and it was Altaïr's fault. He was crippled, and it was _Altaïr's fault._

So many times, Malik had pictured the three of them together for a long time - the two people he knew he loved most - but now Kadar was gone, and it seemed that the part of him that could love Altaïr had been cut away, too.

"You took my brother from me!" Malik shouted when he saw him again, and Altaïr turned his face away, not meeting Malik's gaze. "You _killed_ him! You killed _everything_!"

As he moved away to Jerusalem, holing up in the Assassin's Bureau and learning the ways of his new desk job, Malik tried to busy himself to distract himself from the feelings that had turned his love to newfound hatred.

There wasn't time for hatred, and there certainly wasn't time for love.

Malik wasn't thrilled to see Altaïr again. When the man was given assignments in Jerusalem, Malik spoke to and looked at him as little as he could get away with - but the feelings didn't go away. At first, Malik was certain it was an inability to accept Kadar's death and move on, but he couldn't stop thinking about that future he'd planned out for the three of them.

It only made him hurt more.

It wasn't until Altaïr started changing that Malik allowed himself to look at him again in a new light. In that time, Malik had had a lot of opportunity to realize that Kadar's death hadn't solely been Altaïr's fault - but he'd never admit that aloud.

When they met again in Masyaf and Altaïr asked Malik for his help, it was like a miracle - a healing of a long-ignored wound. Once everything was over and their former master was dead, Malik fell into Altaïr's arms and they didn't speak for a long time. The words would never be adequate, so why bother with them? Altaïr knew what Malik was thinking, and Malik hoped he understood Altaïr, as well.

Still, everything was suddenly changing - Malik wasn't certain what the future held, but he knew that there was a lot left to do - for himself, and for Altaïr. For all the assassins.

There wouldn't be time for love - but that was alright. They would make the time, somehow. They would have to.


End file.
